


In Perpetuity

by Kiranokira



Series: The Tanabata Challenge [1]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Afterlife, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiranokira/pseuds/Kiranokira
Summary: Achilles and Patroclus are a rarity and a bit of a spectacle even in death.Achilles says anyone would be foolish to expect anything different.Patroclus privately agrees.





	In Perpetuity

**Author's Note:**

> This year, to celebrate the Tanabata holiday, I decided to write some short fics dedicated to my favorite canon couples. I only gave myself the rule that the fics have to be at least 700 words long (since Tanabata is on 7/7), but as a nod to the Tanabata story, there will be a theme of separation/reuniting to all the stories.
> 
> Achilles and Patroclus have fascinated me since I was very young, so of course Madeline Miller's beautiful version of them had to be included. ♡

There are aspects of death that mirror life.

For example, death isn’t permanent

•

The underworld is as varied as the mortal plane, both in torment and in bliss. The fields of Elysium seem to glow perpetually in shifting shades of gold and pink and silver. Clouds sometimes move across the sky, bringing just enough rain to wet the grass and make the flowers glisten. Elsewhere, the underworld is less glorious, but Achilles and Patroclus cannot speak knowledgeably of that.

Neither of them feels the passing of hours or centuries. Once, they sleep together in the shade of an olive grove for over a hundred years, their limbs entwined and their faces hidden. At first, their fellow souls regard them with weary amusement, but they all grow accustomed to walking around the grove entirely to avoid disturbing them.

Achilles and Patroclus are a rarity and a bit of a spectacle even in death.

Achilles says anyone would be foolish to expect anything different.

Patroclus privately agrees.

When the underworld fades, it does so in degrees. In patches it exists, then exists no longer.

Some souls have been parted from the mortal plane for so long that they’ve forgotten the weight and cling of life, but more recent souls like Patroclus and Achilles sense what’s happening and do what they can to resist the pull that feels so frighteningly like utter oblivion.

Patroclus and Achilles are of conflicting minds. They believed the safety and splendor of Elysium to be everlasting. Just the suggestion that it’s just as finite as the mercurial world they were born to is horrifying to Achilles. On the other hand, Patroclus replies, they will leave here together.

Achilles says, “We will make sure of that.”

They approach Hades where he stands close to the fields of Elysium by the River Lethe. He isn’t as difficult to find as he once was. The underworld loses souls by the thousands every moment, departing in wisps to destinations unknown, and the underworld itself has begun to curl inward. Hades and Persephone seem to understand what’s happening, but they’re reluctant to share anything with their dead. Achilles and Patroclus don’t really care for the details, only that they will remain by each other’s side regardless of what happens.

“I can’t promise you what you want,” Hades tells them before they speak.

Achilles says, “You can, and you will.”

Patroclus nods. When Hades glances at him, Patroclus looks into the eyes of a god without fear or awe.

“There is nothing certain about what will come,” says Hades.

“There is him,” says Achilles. “There is me.”

“Please,” Patroclus adds. It’s a paltry offering in comparison to what they’re asking for, and who they’re asking.

But there is a pause, and then Hades says, “I will do what I can,” and it isn’t unlikely to presume that his mind is a maelstrom of troubled thoughts regarding his own certain one.

Achilles opens his mouth to press for more, but Patroclus inhales and inclines his head, so he accepts what he’s been told. Achilles has never and will never rejoice in situations outside his control, but in death as in life, he will ever bend an ear to the counsel of Patroclus.

As the shrinking lands of the underworld blend and tangle, the radiance of Elysium becomes a harsh bright haze. The number of souls continues to diminish. Achilles and Patroclus remain through stubborn force of will.

“No one seems to fear it,” Patroclus points out.

“I don’t fear it,” Achilles says.

Patroclus looks at him.

Achilles looks at Patroclus’s fingers, locked between his own.

When only a handful of souls remain and the pull of oblivion feels almost intolerable to resist, Hades approaches them, accompanied by Hermes.

“You will be separated,” Hades tells them. “There is no preventing it.”

Hermes is wise enough to clarify, “But you will know each other when you meet.”

After a life and death orchestrated by the whims of gods, Achilles’s trust of them rests on naught but a narrow, crumbling ledge. His mind is creating a strategy to fight for more.

Beside him, Patroclus asks, “How?”

“That choice is yours,” Hermes says.

Skeptical, Achilles asks, “What are we to give you in return?”

Both gods shine with Olympian majesty, exuding their grace and excellence and power without conscious effort. Their eyes are cold with fear.

Once the deal is struck, the souls of Achilles and Patroclus succumb to oblivion, and the underworld shudders without their warmth.

•

There are a pair of cats entwined on the windowsill, purring in a puddle of sunlight. One ear flickers to acknowledge a sudden noise inside the house.

The front door opening.

A basket of herbs and vegetables caked in soil. Woven sandals tearing at the fastenings. Golden curls slicked to sweat-bathed skin.

A fire in the hearth.

Waves on the rocks outside.

A beloved dark head hidden under a blanket. Strong arms wound tight around a pillow infused with the scent of those golden curls.

In the corner, a small shrine and a flickering flame.

A kiss.

A smile.

“I’ve found you.”

“So you have.”


End file.
